Four Times Daryl Found Hope, and One Time He Found His Heart
by ellie-kat89
Summary: Fighting back old demons, battling walkers, and finding the hope (and the people) he needed to go on in his bleak world is what the days in the life of Daryl Dixon are all about. Reunion and Caryl fic, set post "Alone." Rated M for dark themes and language.
1. Maggie

**Author's Note: Hello all and thanks for reading! :) This is my first TWD fic, it will be in five parts and is of course Caryl but will eventually feature all of the group as they are reunited. If so inclined, please review.**

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**Four Times Daryl Found Hope, and One Time He Found His Heart**

_Chapter 1: Maggie_

The scars on his back seemed to throb and burn with every step he took. It was all in Daryl's head of course but it was there all the same. The past three days had brought up more memories than he ever thought he could remember in such a short time period. The leader, _Joe_, had reminded him so of his old man, that even setting eyes on the sicko had made his gut churn. He'd been with the group for little more than two days before the other men let their guards down and Daryl was able to slip away. The bandits had assumed that he was like them… maybe the way he talked, the way he held himself, or maybe just because Daryl had lied through his teeth, and had lied well. He had been forced to talk the talk, but thankfully not to walk the walk.

All of the men had liked to talk, boasting mostly about the things they had done. Rapes, murders… how they loved this new world because it allowed them to do all the things that they had always wanted to. Those men loved hurting people, seeing people scream and cry… just like dear old dad.

It had been about ten hours since he'd broken away from the group and struck out on his own. He had walked most of it through a stream he had found to hide his tracks easier but now he was on the train tracks for a while, making good time as he headed south. He had one goal, and that was to get back to where those fuckers had found him and continue on Beth's trail. Losing her hurt more than watching Sophia stumble out of that barn and almost more than the time he thought… _she _had been dead. But he couldn't think that name, not now, not when he was so close to breaking.

Finding Beth was unlikely, he knew that, but she'd been his responsibility and the very last connection he had to the others, to his family. So, he would try, _she _would have wanted him to.

Having to, unfortunately, get to know Joe and the others had made him realize something very important… Rick had sentenced her to death, or something worse, when he had banished _her_. He had had no hope before but being faced with their stories of coming across lone women and the things those sick fucks would do to them before eventually killing them – he was far passed just 'no hope.'

Daryl looked down at his left hand, surprised to find that it was shaking. He made a fist and then relaxed his hand. He couldn't think about it anymore, it was driving him nuts. He would think about finding Beth instead. He could at least think Beth's name without feeling like he was dying. She had been alive the last time he'd seen her and going south.

He took a deep breath of warm, midafternoon air and hoisted his bow higher on his back. His head was all over the place, jumping from one painful thing to the next and Daryl knew he wouldn't last long on his own. He was dehydrated, exhausted, and no matter how much he tried to push down the painful shit, it just rose back up.

It was time to get off the tracks and rough it through the woods, he was too exposed on the tracks. He made to turn and stopped himself. There was something up ahead… a sign and then next to it a large electric box with red writing, he could just see it from the angle he was at.

He jogged forward and stopped in front of the electrical box – "_Glenn go to Terminus, Maggie._" His mouth dropped open and he felt almost dizzy with the feelings coursing through him. He stumbled forward and examined the writing closer. It was in dark, congealed blood with a dead, disemboweled walker hidden in the tall grass on the side of the tracks.

A bark of laughter erupted from his dry throat and he stifled the rest that wanted to follow. Maggie Greene was fucking tough – not to mention badass. He touched the blood on the electrical box, it was mostly dry but where Maggie had been particularly exuberant and the blood was thicker, it was still gel like. He was only a few hours behind her, maybe five. Next he looked at the small sign next to the box. It was clearly not Maggie's doing, it was older and covered in plastic to keep it from getting wet.

"Those who arrive, survive?" he mumbled allowed. Mostly Daryl thought it sounded like horseshit. Something about it didn't sit right with him but if Maggie was going in that direction….

Once again there was light, a spark of hope in his otherwise dark world. Beth was still gone but she'd been right in the end. They all weren't dead.

* * *

He caught a squirrel, roasted it quickly over a spit and shoved the hot meat down his throat, followed by a few wild berries that grew along the tree line by the tracks. He found a cool, clear running stream and filled his water bottle and dropped in his second to last purification tablet. They'd been a lucky find a few months ago on a run… and he didn't exactly have time to boil his drinking water. He chugged it down and then splashed his face with the water from stream. He shook his head, feeling his mind clear as the water and food did its job. He filled his bottle again and dropped in the last tablet.

He had found a purpose, just when he needed one the most. First he would catch up to Maggie and then he would find Beth. Though explaining to Maggie exactly what happened in that cemetery was going to be painful.

Fed and refreshed, Daryl headed off down the railroad tracks at a jog, keeping an eye on the banks on either side of the tracks for foot prints.

Before long he came across his first set of prints. He stopped and examined it, squatting down. There was a set disappearing into the trees and then the same tracks coming back down. They were fresh, maybe just a couple of hours old. He placed his own foot next to the print and his eyes narrowed. Not Maggie's print but definitely not Glenn's either. He knew Rick's print better than his own and it wasn't his either. Too big to be Carl's. Larger sized print, but maybe not too big to be made by a woman's boot. Interesting. He followed the prints up to the tree line and looked around, easily following the tracks in the softer forest floor to behind a tree, where they stopped before backtracking. A man then. One who was too modest to take a piss along railroad tracks. So, Maggie was travelling with someone or she was possibly being followed, but Daryl found that unlikely.

He walked back to the train tracks and started off again at a fast pace, he definitely wasn't far behind.

Half-an-hour later he found another dead walker and a sign for Glenn, this time on the side of a train depot. Like before, Daryl stopped and looked for traps, easily finding three different sets. The same man's prints from before, Maggie's (mostly centered around the dead walker) and another, even smaller set. He stared at the new print for a minute. It was familiar but not overly so. Somebody who he'd worked with before then, somebody from the prison. They seemed to have spent some time at the depot and the surrounding buildings, scavenging probably, looking for food. Which meant he could easily catch up.

Taking a swig of water, he glanced up at the sky, shielding his eyes from the sun. He maybe had another hour before things became too dark to continue… and he could no longer continue the same speed as before.

Continuing on the tracks, he began to let his mind wander as weariness set in. He thought about Beth some, but tried not to think about what she might be going through… if she was still alive. He thought about the prison, about how complacent they had become there, and the ones they lost. Beth had been insisting for days that they just couldn't be the only ones alive, that others had probably made it out too. And now that Maggie was just up ahead, possibly with two others of their group, he began to believe it some too.

He smelled and heard them around the bend in the tracks before he saw them. Groaning, shuffling walkers heading his way. He couldn't necessarily tell how many, but it sounded like too many to risk taking on when he only had two arrows left. Daryl veered off the tracks quickly, scrambling up the embankment and sprinting silently into the trees. Taking out his knife, he held in his hand as he moved deeper into the wood. He came across one walker and stabbed it quickly through the left eye socket, dark red ooze spraying when he hit his mark. He moved on fast, yanking his knife with a squelch out of the corpse. After another minute of veering around trees, he found one that was climbable. Sheathing his knife, he climbed the Georgian white oak as high as he dared, and settled himself in the natural, narrow 'E' made by three close growing branches. Daryl placed his crossbow across his legs and waited to see if any walkers from the tracks had followed him, but none came.

It grew dark quickly in the trees and he knew there was no point in continuing that night. He dug the last of his jerky out of his pocket and munched on a few bites in-between sips of water. Feeling fairly secure in his position he leaned his head back against the rough bark and let his eyes close. Sleep claimed him quickly.

* * *

_Carol's face twisted in agony. One hand tight around her throat, the other tearing at clothes. Joe's face twisted in a sneer… the hand tightening, and then Joe's face morphing into a familiar shape – his father. He screamed and struggled, reaching out to help her but unable to move or to get to her. He was stuck. _

Daryl awoke with a rough shout and breathed heavily as his stomach rolled. He was wet with sweat and shaking, his mind racing as he tried to separate dream from reality; knowing it was inevitable he leaned over the branch and emptied the meager contents of his stomach onto the ground below.

Still shaking, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and reached for his water bottle taking a few precious sips of the water before screwing the cap back on and putting it away.

"Stop being such a fuckin' pussy Dixon," he growled aloud, his voice seeming to be sucked into the darkness around him. He needed to get his head screwed on straight, otherwise he wouldn't be any help to anyone.

He breathed in deeply and leaned his head back, knowing he would never sleep now, not after that. It was still dark, Daryl thought that maybe it was early in the morning, around four. A few minutes later the first sounds of approaching geeks reached his ears, likely drawn by the sound of his earlier shout. The forest was pitch black and he couldn't see but he thought that maybe there were two or three of them, judging by the sounds.

Daryl waited silently in the tree until the world around him began to lighten as the sun rose. Able to finally see, he readied a bolt in his crossbow and looked down. There were two of them, clawing at the tree and wandering around its base, knowing apparently he was there but unable to reach their meal. He aimed and fired, shooting the one closest to him through the head; he nocked the other bolt and let that one fly too, watching as it flew through the air and reached its target.

After climbing down he jerked the bolts out of the walkers and wiped them clean on the dewy grass at his feet. He straightened and went about finding himself some breakfast. He ate a handful of wild walnuts and several nearby wild blackberries before tracing his earlier path to the train tracks. The walkers were gone but they had left behind their own shuffling tracks, effectively obliterating any human tracks that Maggie and her group could have made. The train tracks and the slopes on either side acted as a funnel, channeling the walkers down along the tracks. It was very likely that Maggie had also run into the same herd that had passed through the day before. Hopefully at the end of this journey there was someone alive on the other end.

He'd been walking for more than an hour before he once again came across signs of other humans. He had finally passed the place where the herd had come in, a small road that crossed the tracks, and soon after that he found another one of Maggie's signs. It was fresh, made probably less than an hour ago – the blood still dripped slowly down the metal of the box in small gruesome rivulets.

Knowing that he was so close had him quickening his pace, breaking out into a jog. He came across two dead walkers along the tracks, killed recently with clean knife wounds through the eye sockets. And then several yards down another walker flat on its back with an arrow sticking out of its head. His blood ran cold as he approached the walker, tugging the arrow out of its head. Neon yellow fletching with smears of dark red blood on the tips. Not one of the shorter crossbow bolts but an extra-long arrow, shot from an older fashioned bow. A bow owned by the fucker who had wanted his wings, Daryl was sure of it. The kill was more recent, the blood less gel-like than the ones likely killed by Maggie and her group.

Heart beating hard, he loaded a bolt, ears straining for sounds up ahead. If he was following Maggie's signs… then why wouldn't somebody else? It was a chilling thought. He had noticed that the tracks had started to bend, moving south-west rather than due south. The tracks had no cover, not against walkers and not against bad people.

The tracks were more raised where he was, deep drainage ditches dug on either side, and he jumped off of the tracks and down into the one on his left to provide some cover. Keeping low, he hurried forward, bow held at the ready. He badly needed more bolts, with only two all else he had was his knife and that was no good for stealth.

He had only traveled a few minutes when he heard a shout up ahead, followed by a dull thud. Daryl cursed under his breath and broke out into a run. There was a bend up ahead to the left and from the sounds, they were just on the other side.

"Stay away from us!" a female voice rang out through the thick trees. Her voice didn't shake and she sounded strong, commanding.

_Maggie_.

"Now, now ladies, ain't no use in pointing those things at us. We know you're all out of bullets."

_Joe._

"Fuck you."

_Sasha._

Daryl heard the men laugh.

"You got it all wrong darlin', it's going to be the other way around."

_Like Hell asshole._

He almost fell over Bob Stookey, lying in the ditch. He was noticeably breathing but bleeding badly through a wound on the back of his head. _So, they had come up from behind and took out Bob and went after the women. _Taking out what they viewed as competition before moving onto their prey… just thinking it made Daryl's skin crawl. He searched through Bob's pockets quickly, taking the knife he found and then the gun. He checked the magazine – _two bullets left. _He reinserted the magazine and went around the bend, finally catching sight of what he, Maggie, and Sasha were up against.

The girls stood back to back. They'd dropped their guns and held knives at the ready, prepared to defend themselves. The men stood in a circle around them, bows up and arrows nocked.

"Don't be stupid now, there's five of us and two of you. Charge us and we drop you," Joe said silkily. "Tell ya what, come quietly and we'll go easy on you… the first time."

_Liar._

Sasha's chin lifted, knife steady. "You're not touching us."

"Which one do we get to play with first Boss?" Len asked, licking his lips. "I like the one with the pretty, shiny ring." He reached out for Maggie's hand and she reacted instantly, slashing horizontally with her knife and then kicking out.

Len yelled, stumbling backwards, hand covering his bleeding face; she'd managed to get him across the face, from cheek to cheek, almost cutting off his nose.

"Well, well boys, we've got a couple 'a hell cats here. We know just what to with hell cats don't we?" Joe sneered. "Len stop that fuckin' caterwaulin'!" the leader shouted as Len whimpered and yelled, blood dripping through his fingers.

"That bitch got me in the face!"

Still in the ditch, Daryl kneeled, bow against his shoulder, the cold metal touching his cheek. He had a decision to make and he had to make it fast. He had two bolts and two bullets but five enemies. If he made the wrong decision he could get them all killed. He was good with the gun but it didn't feel comfortable in his hand like the bow did; the gun felt alien in his hand, not an extension of his arm. Joe had been right about one thing, he was a bow man.

In the span of just ten seconds, the decision was made for him. One of them approached Sasha on the far side, opposite of Daryl, his bow up as a block against her knife. Sasha moved slightly to the left, swaying away from the approaching man and just like that Daryl had a clear shot. He took it, pulling the trigger and letting the bolt fly. It spun through the air and sunk with a thump into Dan's head. Daryl didn't watch the bolt fly or hit its mark, he already had the bow loaded and fired before Joe could finish his exclamation of surprise.

Daryl sprang to his feet, gun already in hand and fired twice in quick succession. Once and then a second time, his arm jerking with each shot. They were both low shots, he didn't trust himself to aim for their heads but he got the two men in the chest, both fatal shots. Daryl continued to hold the gun aloft even though it was empty as he approached, his bow in his other hand.

Joe's sneer had fallen away to be replaced by a look of pure shock as he looked around, each of his group dead or dying – it had been Daryl's plan all along to leave him the last man standing. Maggie and Sasha's eyes were wide, turned toward him now and away from the dead men at their feet.

"Daryl!" Maggie exclaimed, moving to take a step toward him but he shook his head jerkily at her.

"Check 'em, make sure they don't turn."

Maggie and Sasha turned and did just that, stabbing the men quickly and efficiently through the heads. In the interim Joe rearranged his face into something expressionless and raised his hands into the air, one grey eyebrow cocked.

"We both know there's no more bullets in that gun, Dixon."

"Don't matter, I intend to beat you to death with it," Daryl growled, hand tightening around the gun.

Joe's face didn't change. "We both know you're not going to do that."

_That's what you think. _

Unbidden, a memory came to Daryl's mind, a boy tied up in a barn and his fist striking the boy's face again and again…. The smirk on Randall's face as he told the story about those two teenage girls and he felt the same righteous anger now but it was tenfold. This was personal – the scars on his back gave a throb again.

"_Don't sit back here and tend to your bloody fists and pretend you don't care_." Daryl stopped a few feet away from Joe, Carol's voice seeming to ring through his head like a bell. It felt in a way like she was right behind him, or beside him. He wanted to kill this fucker slowly, make sure he felt each blow before he slit his throat – he'd enjoy it in the end, killing Joe. His hand flexed around the gun, tightening again and then loosening.

_But then how different would you really be?_

The thought was so out of left field that he dropped the gun to the ground in surprise. He breathed hard through his nose for a moment before pulling his knife out its sheath at his hip.

"Kneel," he ordered.

When Joe didn't comply, Daryl kicked the man's legs out from under him and he fell to the ground on his knees, hands still up in the air.

There was relative silence as Daryl walked around behind the other man. Taking a handful of Joe's oily hair in his fist, he pulled back, exposing Joe's neck. In the distance he heard Sasha leave to tend to Bob and Maggie standing near, watching.

Joe's laugh turned into a gurgle as Daryl slid the knife across the man's neck, blood spilling onto the ground below. Then, he pulled the knife away to sink it into the back of his head, ensuring that Joe would not rise again.

With a snarl, Daryl pushed the body away from him and the corpse lay there sprawled across the tracks, limbs at odd angles.

He cleaned the knife and put it away, looking up and catching Maggie's eye. She was standing a few feet away, dirty hands over her mouth, and tears in her eyes. She pulled her hands away and wiped impatiently at her eyes, wetness smearing the blood that dotted her face.

"I don't think I've ever been so glad to see someone in my whole life," she spoke, stumbling towards him and wrapping her shaking arms around him.

Daryl tensed, stunned. Maggie had barely ever touched him before, let alone hug him. He patted her back twice before she let him go, shaking herself and wiping the rest of her tears away.

"Been followin' you, saw one of your signs yesterday," he said, stepping away so that he could look closer at her. "Any of that yours?" he asked, pointing to the blood on her face.

She rubbed at her grimy cheek and shook her head. "No, not mine."

Daryl nodded. "You see signs of anybody else yet?" he asked her.

Her head bowed for a moment, the weight of those that could be lost, heavy. "No. We found the bus but one of the sick ones must have turned…. The bus was full of walkers. We checked each one to make sure none of them were Glenn," she shrugged jerkily, wiping at her eyes again, this time angrily. "He must have gotten off or gone back. All I know is he wasn't in that bus."

"We'll find 'im," he said with the same certainty that he had felt when he'd been looking for Sophia; that felt an eternity ago.

Maggie mouthed a thank you and had to swallow hard before she could speak. "What about you?"

His throat tightened and his eyes dropped, staring down at the ground, watching as the toe of one ratty shoe kicked at a little rock. His heart was right in his throat again, heavy with regret. _I lost your sister, she was right there and I just fuckin' lost her. _

"Daryl?" Maggie asked.

He forced himself to meet her questioning gaze. "I got out with Beth." It came out as a pained croak and he cleared his dry throat.

She sucked in a deep breath. "Okay." Maggie straightened, preparing herself for the worst, her eyes glassy. "She dead?"

This was the hard part, because he didn't know. If he knew for sure, it would be easier. "I – don't know. Somebody took off with her."

Maggie's head jerked back in surprise and he quickly explained. Daryl started with coming to the cemetery and then the clean, stocked house. Looking back now he was disgusted with himself that he didn't realize the whole thing was a setup. He described the dog, the walkers, and then finally the car that sped off into the night, with Beth inside of it.

"I'm gonna find her though," he added. "That's where I was headin' when I found your sign."

Maggie nodded, her face twisted into a worried, perplexed expression. "But how? She could be anywhere."

His mind raced and he unconsciously turned his body towards the west, back to where that cemetery had been. "I'm goin' back to that cemetery. I missed something there my first time through." That much was clear now that he actually thought about it. Somebody took the time to keep that place clean and stocked, somebody had taken the time to pose those walkers, and to fix them up for burial. Whoever it was would likely go back.

Daryl felt pressure on his arm and looked down to find Maggie's hand just above his wrist. "We'll find her too."

He nodded, realizing that he felt something suspiciously like _hope _blooming in his chest. Yes, they could find Beth, but more than that, they _would _find her.


	2. Beth

**Author's Note: WOW. Last night's episode was intense, dark, and emotionally heavy, I wish I could give everyone a light, happy chapter but sadly that's not what this story is about. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, you guys are awesome. This story will now also follow the events in "The Grove" and last episode made be go back and change a few, key things in this chapter. Hope you like :).**

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_Chapter 2: Beth_

The gun shop was stuffy with dust motes glittering in the sun shining in through the windows. It had mostly been picked over by others before them, most of the guns and ammo gone but a handful of hunting knives remained, and fortunately for Daryl Dixon a healthy collection of crossbow bolts. He took all of them, loading up a quiver he had found. Sasha stood on the other side of the small room, rummaging through racks for ammo.

"You findin' anything?" he called, slinging the quiver across his back.

She huffed. "Some, not enough. How about you?"

"Enough."

The two of them had spent the day scavenging for food and supplies, preparing for the journey ahead of them. It was the day after the incidence on the train tracks and with a wounded and concussed Bob, it had been decided between Daryl, Maggie, and Sasha to hole up for the time being in the next little town on the tracks. They'd spent the night in the abandoned, three story train depot, discussing what to do next and going over plans. Mostly how and where to find Beth.

Sasha had gotten lucky when she found an '83 Ford Ranger pick-up truck that could miraculously still run, indeed the keys had even been under the seat. There'd been local maps in the glove box which helped in pinpointing exactly where they were in comparison to the cemetery. It also helped as they began to theorize exactly where survivors from the prison might go given their locations in the prison when it fell. But as Daryl pointed out, he and Beth had ended up practically zigzagging across the whole county to escape various herds, if others survived they would probably have to do the same thing.

There were other issues to discuss. It had been unanimously decided (but particularly strongly by Bob) that it was a bad idea for any of them to be alone. If they went looking for Beth than they would all go. A wrench was thrown in this particular idea by Sasha pointing out that Bob wouldn't be able to travel for at least a couple of days and the longer they waited to find Beth the greater chances they wouldn't find her at all, at least alive.

Once they had talked it out, it was easy enough to know what had to be done – they needed to split up. Maggie would go with Daryl and Sasha would stay with Bob.

Daryl thought over the plan in his head as he and Sasha exited the gun shop and headed back to the depot. They carried bags laden with food plus other supplies and from Daryl's belt swung several squirrels and a one fat rabbit.

"You think this is going to work?" Sasha asked him skeptically as they walked.

Daryl acknowledged that a lot could happen in a few days, if he and Maggie got back with Beth, there was no guarantee that Sasha and Bob would still be there. If a herd or another group rolled through they might have to get out in a hurry. They could leave a note saying the direction they were going in, if they had time for such a thing. Was it a gamble? Yes, but a necessary one. Their plan may have been full of holes but it was better than no plan.

"It's gotta," he finally replied.

Sasha nodded but didn't reply. Daryl knew she was holding onto her realism like a lifeline, he could understand, he had done the very same thing not long ago.

The depot was the first building in the little town, situated tall and grey against the tracks. They had boarded up the front completely and the only way to get to the top floors and the roof was the fire escape in the back of the building. Daryl and Sasha slung their bags over their shoulders and began to climb the ladder to the second floor. After that the ladder to the ground could be pulled up and locked into place and flights of stairs led up to the third floor and the roof. Even Sasha had to admit that they were set up pretty well.

Maggie opened the window for them and they handed her the bags before they crawled through. The third floor was all one large room, before the end of the world it had clearly been office space.

The sun was already going in the other direction and Daryl knew that they wouldn't leave until tomorrow morning; when they set out he wanted everything to be to their advantage. Bob was sitting on the floor, back against the far left wall, and his head bandaged. He dozed softly in his position, dried blood staining the collar of his shirt.

Maggie took a seat in a desk chair by a window and pulled a pad of paper, the map Sasha found in the truck, and a map of the railway lines onto her lap, inspecting them. That morning she had drawn a quick diagram of the prison and the roads around it, attempting to figure out who would go where. On the side of the diagram were a list of names and locations of their friends the last time they had been seen before the prison had fallen.

Sasha walked up to the other woman and looked down at diagram and list, investigating it closely. She placed a long, thin finger on Tyreese's name and traced the proposed escape route that he could have taken. She looked at the rest of the names and her eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

"What about Carol? I don't remember seeing her that day," Sasha asked, curious.

The minute the name was out of the woman's mouth, Daryl felt every muscle in his body tense. He held the fat rabbit in one hand and his knife in the other, about ready to skin it, but waited, eyes lifting to find Maggie and Sasha in the room. Maggie had also stilled completely, eyes on her diagram, as if contemplating something important.

"That's because she wasn't there," Maggie eventually replied, shuffling papers nervously.

Sasha stared. "But why?"

Maggie sighed. "Rick found out that she was the one that killed Karen and David, he banished her."

Before he'd even realized he had done it, Daryl was on his feet, sliding the chair back several feet in his haste. The rabbit lay forgotten on the ground but his knife was still clenched in his other hand – and it was shaking. The room grew silent and the women turned toward him, surprised by the sudden commotion and also Bob awoke, staring blearily at them all.

The room suddenly felt small, confined, and Daryl realized that his breathing felt labored and heavy. He also realized that he was _angry_, so angry that he could feel the emotion welling up in his gut, spreading through his veins like fire. When Rick had told him, just before the prison had fallen, he hadn't had the time to be good and truly angry; he had been mad but there had been other things he had to take care of first – _the girls, Tyreese, Rick_. Then the Governor had attacked and there hadn't been time for anything except for surviving, but now that was over, the anger had returned. Anger at Rick, anger at the whole stupid world in general, and anger too at Carol.

He had told Rick that Carol couldn't have done it, that it wasn't her, and he believed it now more than ever. But that didn't stop the fact that she had taken the blame for something she hadn't done. If she was in trouble why hadn't she told him? Why? And there was the key to why he was so angry, she hadn't confided in him when just six months before she would have. He had failed her, again, and he hated himself for it.

"You don't know shit," he eventually growled, voice harsh and angry. "That ain't her."

He turned, threw the window open and leaped onto the fire escape outside. He went up to the roof and paced for a long minute before eventually kicking a rusting, tipped over can of paint; it flew off of the roof with a clatter, arcing high in the air before hitting the ground far below. Suddenly the anger seemed to drain out of him completely and he stopped pacing, sagging where he stood. Not wanting to go back in yet, he sat down near the edge of the roof so that his legs dangled off the side.

The sun was setting behind him and he watched the shadows lengthen, the town darkening until Daryl could barely see it at all. Sitting there he couldn't help his mind from wandering. He had made the decision to go off with Michonne and join her search for the governor. He'd frozen his ass off most of that winter, only coming back to the prison every couple of months. They had crisscrossed most of Georgia (even dipping into Alabama more than once) but had never seen even one sign of Philip Blake. Eventually the prison had needed him more – on runs, to be on the counsel, to somewhat take over the leadership of the prison when Rick couldn't handle it anymore – and so he had stayed. But during those long months away with Michonne, something had changed between him and Carol, it had been subtle but there. She didn't seek him out like before, didn't gravitate to him, she had been almost _distant_. It had taken time to get to where they had been before and they had just started to fall back into their old friendly, teasing ways when the sickness had come to the prison.

He heard movement behind him and turned, just able to tell it was Maggie from her outline. She was silent as she settled beside him, her legs kicking back and forth absently through the air as she sat.

"I'm sorry," she said eventually.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders, unconsciously chewing on the skin around his thumb. "Nothin' ya' did," he mumbled.

"Doesn't mean I'm not sorry."

They were silent again for a long stretch, the only sounds were the wind whistling through the trees and the crickets that sang around them.

Eventually she cleared her throat and spoke again. "You think she didn't do it?"

"I know so," he replied easily, believing it completely.

Daryl couldn't really see her face but he could imagine the puzzled expression she must have been wearing. "But why?" she asked.

"Just do."

Silence again for a few seconds as she digested this. "You love her don't you? Glenn always thought so… I just never saw it 'till now."

Daryl's throat seized and he couldn't speak, couldn't ever dream of answering. Love was a foreign concept to him, something alien and scary. He knew that his eyes might find her the instant he walked into a room, that he might seek her out, and that in the dark of night he might want her, even let himself think of what it might be like, but he never let himself think in terms of _love_. She was simply… his person, the one that kept him moving onward.

_Besides, how could a woman like that, ever want a man like me?_

Maggie seemed to understand his silence. "You should know something. When you went off with Meryl before Woodbury fell, she was crushed that you had left. And not because you were the hunter or the protector or because we needed you, but because _you _left."

Silence reigned as she stood. "Are you coming? I finished skinning that rabbit and Sasha's cooking it."

"Yeah," he answered, standing too.

She didn't move towards the fire escape and he knew that she wasn't done yet. "Something else," she began, searching for the right words before continuing, "if Rick came up to me and told me that Glenn had killed someone to protect me or someone else, I wouldn't believe him either. I wouldn't listen to proof or reason – but then love is blind like that. Just something you might consider."

Thanks to Maggie, it was all he was thinking about.

* * *

They left at first light the next morning. The truck was stocked with half of the supplies with the other half staying behind with Bob and Sasha. It had been decided that if Daryl and Maggie weren't back in four days that it was safe to expect the worst and that the other two should continue onto Terminus. The idea of the sanctuary didn't seem to sit right with Daryl and Sasha was quick to assure that they would scout the place out first.

Maggie sat in the passenger seat, the maps open on her lap while Daryl drove. With a vehicle they could make the trip to the cemetery in about twenty minutes, if they didn't run into a herd or other obstacle. They had found an old cassette tape of Johnny Cash's greatest hits in the glove box and Maggie had put that in the player for something to listen to.

They barely spoke, and certainly not about the conversation the day before. That was a new day and they had a job to do.

The roads were mostly clear, only coming across a few abandoned cars and a few lonely, meandering walkers, which they ignored. Because of this they ended up making good time, pulling into the cemetery only twenty-five minutes later. It was quiet, eerily so, and without a walker insight. Putting the truck into park, Daryl pocketed the keys and took his crossbow in hand.

"You ready?" he asked, watching as Maggie took in the lay of the land.

"As I'll ever be," she replied.

They stepped down from the truck and closed the doors quietly, taking in the large, white house before them. Maggie was the first to break the silence.

"Someone's been keeping up the landscaping," she stated, pointing to the bushes that lined the porch.

She was right, now that Daryl noticed it. "Yeah," he grunted, bow held tight and ready in his arms.

"God this place gives me the creeps, let's get it over with," Maggie said, shivering.

They pushed open the unlatched front door and listened carefully, but there were no sounds as they peered into the dark house.

Daryl pointed down to the floor, towards where the hallway started. "Should be a dead walker there." But where the dead walker should have been (the first one he downed that night), there was only a dark stain on the floor.

Maggie sucked in a breath. "Someone's been here then, cleaned up."

"Looks like it, yeah."

They moved forward together as one, searching the kitchen first to find that the food Daryl and Beth had left on the table was gone, placed back in the cupboard where they had been originally. There were no walkers anywhere the first floor, even though Daryl could remember killing at least two or three there; next, they approached the basement, the door to it closed. He placed two fingers on his lips for quiet and Maggie nodded in agreement. They stopped at the closed door and Daryl gestured for her to back up a bit. Taking a step back to give himself enough room, he reared back and kicked the door open with a great, splintering crash – to reveal absolutely nothing. All of those walkers he had killed were gone, replaced only by the strong smell of bleach and embalming fluid. Sitting on a little metal table next to the door were two of his bolts, the ones he had left behind.

He picked them up, shocked and sickened. They had been perfectly cleaned with no evidence that they had once been buried in walker heads.

"It's like whoever did this expected you to come back," Maggie whispered, horrified.

Daryl only nodded before turning and making his way back up the stairs and back out onto the first floor, Maggie following close behind him. Silently they checked the rest of the house, combing the rest of the floors, finding them untouched and empty.

"Now what?" she asked, the two of them standing in the entryway again.

"We check outside," he answered, shouldering the front door open and leading her out.

The cemetery was spread out evenly around the house, with newer stones being around the back and older stones towards the front. It was completely surrounded by trees except for the driveway where they had pulled in, giving it an isolated feeling. Determined, they walked around the side of the large house, emerging into the back of the property. After the graves ended a hundred feet away there was a cleared, treeless strip of land that ran from treeline to treeline, The graves were arranged in rows here with a long, wide path cutting the area into two even sides. There was nothing but graves, land, and trees in sight.

"Well, we know that somebody came back here and cleaned up, so wherever they are they're close by," she thought aloud, eyes scanning the trees as Daryl grunted in agreement.

"Could be someone has a place out there," he agreed, gesturing out to the trees that surrounded them. "It's findin' it that's hard."

Then, as the wind picked up, a sound carried to them that perked Daryl's attention. "Ya hear that?" he asked, stepping back up onto the porch to get a better look at the surrounding land.

Maggie's eyes narrowed as she listened. "Sounds like a dog."

"Yeah, that fuckin' mutt from before," he supplied, looking around the porch for a way to get up onto the roof. Seeing a trellis on the side he jumped back down and around to the side, testing its strength before he started to climb.

Maggie waited tensely below, watching as he climbed to the porch roof and then swung himself up onto the slanted gable roof. He used his hands and crawled up the first sloping part of the roof until he reached the attic dormer, the highest part of the house. Paying special attention to his footing he pushed himself up, standing straight and facing the back of the property. From this vantage point he could see most of the surrounding area, acres upon acres of trees, the road that led them to the cemetery, bending westward before twisting back around and away from them. To the right Daryl could see the edge of an old farm and pecan grove and to the south west, buried deep in the dense trees, the rising steeple of a church.

"Do you see anything?" Maggie called.

"There's gonna be a farm house somewhere over there," he began, pointing to the right. "But there's a church over there," he finished, this time pointing forward and a little bit to the left.

Once again a dog barked, this time significantly louder. Daryl pulled his crossbow out from its place behind his back and lifted it so that he could see out of the sight, training it on the distant treeline, and there for a split second he saw a flash of white. He waited and a few seconds later the dog from before burst out of the trees and into the clearing, barking loudly as he chased a small rodent around and around, eventually darting back into the trees.

Slinging the bow onto his back to free his hands, he began to climb back down, scoffing when Maggie admonished him to be careful.

_Right, yeah, like climbing a roof was the most dangerous thing he'd ever done. _

Eventually he made his way back to the trellis and ended up jumping down the last few feet, sure now of the way they should head.

"I saw that mutt over there, towards that church, I say we go that way," he said.

Maggie nodded by-way of agreeing and they immediately set off in that direction. It took them a few minutes before they reached the beginning of the trees and then several more minutes of battling through the dense foliage before they reached a small clearing, the church in the middle. It was an old brick and mortar building, a small pastor's residence attached to the back.

They approached slowly and tried the front door of the church, finding it unlocked. The place was empty but it was fairly clear it was still being kept up, it was dust free and freshly swept. The front door opened up immediately into the nave, lines of polished pews leading to an alter at the back – there was only on door to the right which led to other parts of the building. They moved towards that door, crossbow and gun at the ready.

Daryl eased the next door open carefully, coming into a small hallway with several other rooms off of that. They checked each one, moving forward. They found a small office, then a room where Sunday School would have been held, and a bathroom before they came to the door that linked the church to the residence.

Again they opened this door and Daryl realized instantly that there was something very different about this part of the building – he heard Maggie gasp softly behind him as she got her first glimpse of it. There was writing all over the walls, in a startling mixture of blood red and deep black, the same saying again and again:

_And I will show wonders in the heavens and in the Earth: blood and fire and pillars of smoke. The Sun shall be turned into darkness, and the Moon into blood, before the coming great and awesome Day of the Lord, and it shall come to pass that whoever calls on the Name of the LORD shall be saved._

"It's a bible verse…." Maggie whispered behind him.

Daryl felt himself shiver and walked into the room. There was a small kitchen to one side that opened into a sitting room, a dirty mattress on the floor, there wasn't a sign of anyone though. Maggie moved to the other side of the room and down the hallway, hand gun in one hand and her knife in the other. Daryl heard her open a door and then:

"Daryl!" she cried.

He darted down the hallway and burst into the room right behind her, his stomach dropping down to his toes. It was a bedroom, simply furnished with a low bed in the middle, and above the bed a girl was hanging from the wall. Long blonde hair obscured her face since her head was tipped forward. Her arms were spread and pulled back, with thick ropes around her wrists and secured to the wall using large silver i-screws. Her ankles were wrapped with the same rope and then it was pulled tight and tied to the bed posts, her legs spread obscenely. The girl was dressed in an old fashioned peasant's costume with long sleeves and a long skirt, something that would be used in a small time play. And above her head were the words: _The virgin BETH, mother of our Messiah. _

Maggie gave an agonized cry of internal pain and rushed forward, jumping up onto the bed to lift her sister's face, brushing her long hair out of the way. She searched frantically for a pulse, fingers pressing into Beth's neck and gave a half sob when she found one.

"Daryl, she's alive!"

Not having even realized he had moved, Daryl found himself on the bed with Maggie, balancing precariously on the squishy mattress. He pulled out his knife and began to saw frantically at the rope.

"I'm so fuckin' sick of psychos," he grunted, giving a jerk of the knife as he sawed through the last bit.

Beth's right side swung forward and Daryl reached for her, balancing her as her still bound left arm pulled to the point of the shoulder popping out of its socket. "Hold 'er!" he shouted, switching positions with Maggie as he began to work on the other side.

"Oh God why isn't she waking up?" Maggie muttered, tears running down her face as she held her sister's body against her own.

Daryl couldn't worry about that right now. Not when the sick fuck that did this could come back at any minute and not when she was still tied to the wall like some sort of alter.

Sweat poured from his brow as he worked, arm moving desperately back and forth as the knife worked its way through the thick rope. Finally it too came free and Maggie gave a gasp as Beth's full weight came down upon her, forcing her to take a step back on the uneven mattress and plant her feet to stay upright.

"Hurry Daryl, I'm not going to be able to -," Maggie began, voice thick, but was cut off.

"I'm workin' on it!"

Indeed, he was already half-way through the rope at her left ankle, muscles straining. "C'mon, Beth, c'mon," he grunted under his breath.

When one ankle was free and he moved around to work on the other. With a pop of disconnecting rope fibers she was finally free and Maggie gently lowered her to the bed, gasping for breath as she maneuvered Beth's dead weight. Daryl sheathed the knife and jumped down from the bed.

Maggie was stroking Beth's face, saying her name over and over again as she tried to get a response out of the girl, but Beth did not stir. Daryl brushed Maggie aside and for the first time got a good look at Beth's face; it was pale but she seemed unharmed, her skin was warm but not feverish, his hands unsteadily feeling her forehead and then her left cheek.

_Jesus._

Shaking out his right hand nervously, he gently pulled her eye lids apart, watching as her pupil barely reacted to the light in the room.

"Her pupils are blown."

"What do you mean?" Maggie asked, wiping at her eyes and nose with her sleeve.

Taking her hand in his hand he pulled up the long sleeve covering her right arm, and there at the crook of her elbow were three red injection sites, two red and more recent, the other fading. "Fucker's given her something," he stated gruffly, hoisting Beth into his arms, her head resting limply on his shoulder.

He turned towards Maggie. She was pale and shaky, tear tracks visible on her face. Pulling in several deep breaths of air, Maggie collected herself, nodding as she picked up her gun from the bed where it had fallen. "I can cover you," she finally stated, wiping her sweaty hand on her pant leg.

"Good, let's get the fuck outa here."

And with that, they ran; Maggie leading Daryl out of the house and church as he followed close behind with Beth. They had just reached the trees once more before the snarling of a walker alerted them to the fact that the earlier barking of the dog had drawn the undead. Maggie didn't bother with her knife as she fired two quick shots, hitting both stumbling walkers in the head.

Darting around trees, they entered the strip of forest in between the church and the cemetery, Daryl being forced to slow for a moment until they reached the relatively flat land leading to the white house. It took a minute, maybe a little bit more, for them to reach the truck parked in the front.

Maggie got in first and Daryl handed Beth over. "Watch 'er head," he instructed, making sure Beth's legs were completely in the vehicle before he slammed the door shut.

He jogged around to the other side and just as he opened the driver's side door, shots rang out from the house, hitting the top of the Ranger and the dirt in front of the passenger side. Maggie screamed from the inside of the cab.

"Get down!" Daryl yelled, ducking down as he pulled the crossbow out from behind his back.

The shooting stopped for a moment and Daryl scuttled along the ground until he was near the front of the truck, and peeked around. A man large, portly man stood on the porch, semi-automatic rifle in his hands – he was dressed in a pastor's get up, white collar gleaming clean and white at his throat.

"Deliverance Brother! Deliverance, let the blessed virgin be! The second coming is upon us at last!" the man called out, swaying where he stood, words slurred.

This world turned people into the monsters and not just the undead, that much was clear to Daryl as he loaded a bolt. He had known monsters all his life, people that wanted to hurt him, hurt others, and hurt themselves. Sick people who only became sicker with time and the drink. Beth could have been right… about good people still being out there somewhere, but if it was true, it certainly didn't seem to be in the state of Georgia.

Daryl heard the porch steps squeak as the large man lumbered down, and Daryl looked again, bow ready in his arms. Last time it was a knife, this time it would be with the bow. The man had dropped the gun to the ground, hands reaching out to grab at the porch railing, eyes unfocused.

During their time in the church, the black car had returned, parked out of sight on the other side of the house – they had not noticed it on the run up to the truck. Daryl aimed over the top of the truck, too smart and weary to step out from behind the Ranger. This time there wasn't the same anger as before when Daryl had killed Joe, it was different, but still personal. Beth was in the cab unconscious and he had no way of knowing exactly what had happened to her, and he was fast beginning to recognize Beth as something very different in his life. She was like a sister or something similar, she saw the world differently than he had ever seen it before. A breath of fresh air….

He let the bolt fly and at such close range it easily hit its mark. The man slumped to the ground and Daryl stood. Looking back one more time at the white house, he saw the trap for what it was. How long had the pastor been waiting there for just the right girl?

Daryl opened the door and fished the keys out of his pocket.

"You okay?" he asked Maggie. "Either of you hit?"

Maggie, who was slumped in the seat as low as she could get without being on the floor, had pushed Beth flat across the bench seat.

"No," she replied, shaking her head.

Daryl lifted Beth back up as Maggie straightened in the seat, reaching for her sister. They settled Beth in the middle, her head on Maggie's shoulder. Daryl started the truck and foot heavy on the gas, peeled away from the cemetery, never looking in the rear view mirror at the house behind them as it went up in flames.

* * *

That night as Daryl drifted off to sleep back at the depot, Beth having awoken, groggy and disoriented, but fine, he swore he could hear the distant cries of a baby, being carried along with the night breeze. _But no, it could only be his dreams._


End file.
